


Uncomfortable Uncertainty

by casualfanficconsumer



Category: Fringe
Genre: Cortexiphan, Gen, Light Angst, emotional distress, post-ep, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 18:30:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5508299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/casualfanficconsumer/pseuds/casualfanficconsumer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia directly after "The Road Not Taken," struggling to sleep and contemplating Walter, Cortexiphan, her job, and her fears.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Uncomfortable Uncertainty

Olivia returned home from the diner in a mix of anger, horror, and just plain tiredness. She was caught in too many quandaries that she was not looking forward to solving.

She _needed_ Walter to help her and the Fringe Division get to the bottom of whatever crazy thing was going to pop up next. Broyles was absolutely adamant about having him around. But at the same time, she did not want to see that man again, no matter how necessary he was. He was the reason she’d had so much trouble sleeping these past few weeks. He was the reason she didn’t quite trust her own mind, especially after what happened with Nick Lane. And he was the reason Susan Pratt had died and Nancy Lewis—and herself—had almost met the same fate. How many others would suffer as she and Susan and Nancy and Nick did? What had been done to her? Was she headed for her own dangerous breakdown soon?

_And why couldn’t she remember?_ That was perhaps the most unsettling part.

She was frustrated with herself for not feeling even an ounce of sympathy toward Walter, who could also apparently not remember the details, and who had probably sustained some emotional and mental damage from St. Clair’s. His crying tonight even suggested remorse, and he’d shown genuine care and concern for her on more than one occasion. But did that _really_ excuse him? Olivia didn’t believe so, and she thought Peter probably would agree with her, but the topic was so personal to both of them that she wasn’t ready to start a conversation yet.

There was another thing she wasn’t looking forward to: Rachel. As much as she loved her sister and niece and gladly extended her home to them, they were one obstacle between her and sulking about her feelings in private. Her sister would want to talk, and Olivia preferred to not.

Naturally, to add to her current streak of bad luck, Rachel was still awake, curled up on the couch watching TV. “ _There_ you are,” she deadpanned, but Olivia could detect the worry in her eyes. “Long day at work, huh?”

Olivia shrugged, forcing herself to smile. “Yeah, but that’s the usual.” It wasn’t quite a lie, after all; saving people who had been experimented on from those looking to exploit them had become a regular part of her job. “Hey, I’ve got some things I just need to clear up for work, so I’ll be in my room.”

“Still? You’ve been out so late.”

“Yeah, well, there are just some possible links I’m curious about and I want to research,” she explained, disappearing into the kitchen.

“I hope you’re not getting whiskey!” Rachel called.                                                                         

Indeed, Olivia was—it was practically a habit at this point. Cursing under her breath, she called back, “No, just water, I promise!” But then upon realizing she could probably slip into her bedroom without Rachel seeing her, she went ahead and filled the glass, replacing the bottle as quietly as possible.

She had bigger things to worry about than alcohol.

Things like the possibility of hurting others—or herself—by manipulating objects with her mind.

Olivia settled herself in bed, pulling her laptop onto her and affixing her reading glasses as she gulped the whiskey. This had become a fixture of her evenings.

Since Nick Lane, Olivia found herself researching and researching for any insight into the Cortexiphan trials. If only she knew more, she could feel more comfortable with her own mind. If only she knew who else was affected, she could prevent future deaths. She couldn’t sleep without some effort put into it, although she had only found dead ends. Sure, it was ethical code to keep the identity of participants confidential, but Walter and William Bell certainly hadn’t bothered to mind the other ethical guidelines for experiments on humans that she had learned in the first semester of her psychology degree.

Of course, Nina Sharp claimed that Massive Dynamic didn’t have any more information. But she had seen today that Harris had collected pdetails on the Cortexiphan participants, now serious evidence that would be in the hands of another wing of the FBI. She could probably ask Broyles for access to it. But that was something better suited to a face-to-face conversation than an email, so she could do nothing about it tonight.

And when she did have the information, what would happen next? A serious of hard-to-stomach conversations with these poor adults about the childhood horrors they can’t remember? About how they could be manipulated again, to a fatal result? And she didn’t have enough answers to assure them—or herself—that they would be safe. What kind of FBI agent was she now?

Olivia continued to search for information, going over the same links once again in the hopes to find hidden clues she may have missed. She _had_ to. She could not permit herself to lay down until she had made progress. In her logic, some contribution to the fight for justice could cancel out the horrific images and dreams that would plague her out of guilt.

Finally, frustrated, she shut down her laptop, telling herself, _I’ll ask Broyles about the evidence at that warehouse tomorrow_. _That’s good enough._

But as she turned out the light, there was no preventing what greeted her mind’s eye. Nancy’s reddening face, the picture of herself pinned to that wall, Harris in flames, the sense of panic that she couldn’t do anything to save them…and soon these blended with Nick Lane’s pained expressions and that damn light box Jones had made her control with her powers that she did not understand…

Olivia groaned and buried her head into her pillow, stubbornly bracing for the sleepless night she could do nothing to prevent.


End file.
